


And keep me til the morning light

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Charles is a good friend, Erik has bad dreams, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Post-WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has a tendency to scream in his sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And keep me til the morning light

Erik has a tendency to scream in his sleep.  
   
It’s not uncommon, among men old enough to remember the war: men whose minds, conscious or otherwise, never forgot the horrors they had experienced. It’s also not uncommon among people who – Erik can’t say _lived_ , not that terrible undying death of everything beloved or good – who spent time in the camps, for even greater reasons than the soldiers.  
   
Erik is used by now to finding himself back in the camp every night, as much as it is possible to be used to re-living the nightmare of Schmidt’s experiments or being surrounded by hollow eyes and wasted, emaciated bodies. It’s a constant, living reminder of Erik’s mission, because while for the rest of the world it might have been seventeen years since the war for Erik it is there every time he closes his eyes.  
   
The nightmares remind Erik of everything he has lost and everything he will never have and will never even know to want, because Schmidt broke him and re-forged him into something that is all pain and rage.  
   
Sometimes the nightmares have made it difficult for Erik, when he’s woken entire motels with screaming and the shriek of metal in the night. Sometimes Erik has woken to scenes of metal-wrought destruction, twisted lamps and bed-frames and sometimes even broken building foundations among the landscape of snapped floorboards and cracked plaster, where metal objects have been flung with unnatural force.  
   
Erik still remembers the time his ceiling fell in, on the one memorable night when his sleeping mind had wrenched out the ceiling fan and taken everything else with it.  
   
So, Erik isn’t surprised when he has nightmares from the very first night he spends at the government facility with the other mutants. It makes Erik nervous to be here. They’re not experiments – _yet_ – but it doesn’t take a genius to see the mistrust and fear among the humans, and Erik wonders how long it will take.  
   
His dreams are full of sharp instruments and electrodes, and a calm impersonal voice making observations on it all – a reflection of Erik’s waking unease.  
   
Somehow though Erik manages not to scream, and somehow doesn’t break anything for the first week.  
   
And then he relives the worst memory of all – the one he wishes he didn’t remember and never wants to forget.  
   
It all plays out exactly as it did before, with Schmidt and the gun and his mother dead on the ground, and the grief and impotent rage and the fucking _helplessness_ and the metal all around him responding, too little, too late.  
   
Erik’s mind is awash with pain and loss and hatred, so much hatred, and he wishes he could just _escape_ –  
   
 ** _Erik. Erik._**  
   
The composed but concerned voice cuts through the maelstrom with the precision of a surgical instrument, cool and calm and in contrast to everything that Erik is feeling.  
   
 ** _Erik, it’s all right, you’re dreaming. Wake up, Erik._**  
   
Erik ‘s eyes snap open, going from deeply-asleep to wide-awake in an instant.  
   
There’s a familiar tousled shape in ridiculous flannel pajamas sitting on the bed next to him, fingers cool against Erik’s temple, and he wrenches himself backwards with a gasp, chest heaving as he pants for breath from the emotions still thrumming through his blood and the sudden shock of being awake.  
   
“You were having a nightmare.”  
   
Charles’ voice is quiet, almost calm, although his expression is one of empathic distress.  
   
Erik feels simultaneously angry and grateful and deeply humiliated, and a little bewildered.  
   
“I couldn’t help... overhearing, a little,” Charles adds in explanation, picking his words with care. “You were projecting quite strongly, my friend.”  
   
There is no judgement in Charles’ voice, no  pity or censure or ignorant sympathy, and Erik feels an overwhelming rush of some emotion he cannot out a name to.  
   
“Are you all right?” Charles asks, still watching Erik gravely.  
   
“I’m fine.” Erik’s heart is slowing and his breathing has evened, and he is acutely aware of the quiet and the dark and the cool night air, so different to the memory seared across his brain.  
   
Charles says nothing, just sits next to Erik without moving, and it’s one of the most comforting experiences that Erik has ever known.  
   
“You should go back to bed,” Erik says at last.  
   
If Erik were a different sort of man, less proud and more unguarded, then he would ask Charles to stay, for God’s sake not to leave him alone with the ghosts and demons in his head.  
   
But Erik isn’t a different man and he is proud and guarded, and even if he wasn’t, Erik knows painfully well that anyone who shared a bed with him would be lucky not to be murdered in Erik’s sleep.  
   
Charles nods, and stands.  
   
“Sleep well, my friend,” he says, and moves to leave the room.  
   
Erik speaks just before Charles reaches the door.  
   
“Charles... thank you.”  
   
It’s a thank-you for waking him, for being there, for giving Erik yet another rare moment where he doesn’t feel entirely alone.  
   
“Any time, Erik,” Charles says, and slips away.  
   
Erik lies in the darkness and thinks of unfamiliar daydreams of camaraderie and home and peace, however impractical.  
   
He thinks that what he feels right now might be called hope.  
   
He drifts back to sleep, and this time he is unburdened by dreams.


End file.
